


Glory in the Flower

by frankie_bell



Category: Little Women (1994), Little Women (2017), Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Coming of Age, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Miscarriage, Parenthood, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_bell/pseuds/frankie_bell
Summary: It was then that Laurie realized he was well and truly powerless against the youngest March sister’s many charms.Over the years, Laurie's perception of Amy shifts from brotherly... to friendly... to something wholly unexpected and strangely unstoppable.
Relationships: Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March (Background), John Brooke/Margaret March (Background), Theodore Laurence & Josephine March, Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 152
Kudos: 563





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Amy overhears some classmates spreading hateful gossip, Laurie teaches her that success really is the best revenge.

Amy Curtis March was a maddeningly precocious twelve-year-old, always reaching beyond her years in both skill and conversation, so very eager to be a lady when she was barely even a girl. Blonde of hair, blue of eyes, and fair of skin, she was also just about the prettiest child Laurie had ever seen. Jo once told him God made Amy look like an angel to compensate for the myriad little devilries in her personality, and though he found his girl’s charge a tad harsh, he couldn’t help but agree.

It was nearly impossible to be mad at poor Amy when she looked up at him with her quivering lip and watery eyes, her white face flushed pink with remorse, and more often than not, instead of scolding her, Laurie ended up petting her. And that was to say nothing of what he’d do if anyone dared insult her—for that was an older brother’s duty, was it not? They indulged their baby sisters, often to their detriment, and defended their honor against catty behavior and all manner of impropriety. 

Which is how Laurie found himself consoling the proud little woman as she marched to and fro across the drawing room rug like an affronted peacock, her chin tilted elegantly upward as she struggled not to cry.

“I hate that Jenny Snow,” she declared in a comically aggrieved tone. “First, she tells Mr. Davis about my limes, thus scarring me for life…” She held up a small, dainty hand for Laurie’s inspection, and though the skin looked wholly unmarred, he shook his head in grave agreement as Amy continued. “And now, I hear her and the other girls gossiping about—”

“I thought Jo was teaching you at home?”

Amy rolled her eyes, unamused. “She is, but Marmee sent me into town for some ribbon to trim Meg’s gloves,” she said by way of explanation. “Now, will you please stop interrupting and let me finish my story?”

“Apologies, my lady,” said Laurie, the picture of solemnity, and before he could add a proper bow to go along with it, Amy’s mouth was off and running again.

“Yes, well, on my way back, I passed the schoolyard, and of course that awful Jenny saw me. I didn’t say a word, just kept walking like a true and honest lady, but once I turned the corner, I heard her proclaim very loudly that no amount of ribbon could ever distract from my flat, unbecoming nose and ratty dresses.”

Laurie nearly laughed at this, for Amy’s nose was rather pert and altogether charming, but seeing the honest pain etched on her face, he schooled his expression into one of utter placidity and asked, “What happened next?”

Amy looked down, her cheeks suffusing with color. “I stayed and listened to them. I know I should have been good and simply walked home, but I had to hear what they said about me.”

“And?”  
  
“And Mary Kingsley argued my nose is actually quite nice, but that it doesn't matter, because we Marches are all poor upstarts with no prospects.”

“That little wretch,” said Laurie, and this time, the words were not meant to please Amy, but spoken in plain truth.

“I know! And then Katy Brown, whom I thought was my friend, said that I’d never find a decent match and should stop acting so high and mighty, for it only serves to make me look foolish.”

At this, Laurie did inadvertently laugh, and the daggers she shot his way would have been intimidating coming from anyone less… well, Amylike.

“Laugh all you like, Theodore Laurence,” she began reproachfully, “but know this—while you have money and charm and good looks to get through life, some of us have only our talent and the desire to better our family’s station.”

Laurie rose from his seat and approached the wounded girl, taking her hand gently in his and saying, with all the earnestness he could muster, “Amy, dear, I don’t laugh because I agree with Miss Brown. I laugh because her words are utterly ridiculous.”

Amy sniffed. “Yes?”  
  
“Why, of course! You and your sisters are all intelligent, beautiful girls, and though your family has fallen on hard times, I have every confidence that each of you shall end up in a good home.”

“Even Jo?” asked Amy, stunned.

“Yes,” he said, smiling at the thought of it, “even Jo.”

This seemed to please Amy, who broke from his hold and did a slow twirl in the center of the room, her arms thrown out like wings. “I pray my future husband has a colossal estate to house all my paintings and sculptures. Oh, and a special room for my art boxes and easels… I’d like that ever so much.” 

Laurie grinned, watching Amy flit unselfconsciously about the room, her earlier grievances forgotten, at least in the present moment.

“I’m sure you’ll have everything you wish and more,” he said, a spike of pity in his heart for the poor fellow on whose shoulders he was setting such high expectations. Amy was, after all, possessed of an indomitably strong will, and he had no doubt she’d get what she wanted in the end.

“Thank you, Laurie,” she cried, all sweetness and bouncing curls.

“Don’t thank me quite yet,” he answered, now determined to see her even happier, “for I have an idea how we can quiet all those gossiping schoolgirls.”

And the next day, they did just that, Laurie driving Amy all about town in her finest dress and, once both parties were satisfied they’d been thoroughly seen, dropping her directly in front of Mr. Davis’s schoolyard during recess.

“Why, Miss March,” he shouted after her as several nosy students ran to the fence for a better look, “you might just be the prettiest girl in all of Concord!”

Amy turned back around, her nonchalant posture no match for the glow of affection lighting her face, and it was then that Laurie realized he was well and truly powerless against the youngest March sister’s many charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess I'm just writing for _Little Women_ now, huh? Suffice it to say, 20-year-old me did not see this coming, but 10-year-old me is delighted. I'm so thankful to Greta Gerwig for reigniting my and others' interest in this beautiful book. My last fic focused on combining her vision with Alcott's, but this time around, I'm sticking much closer to the source material, which will always be the best version in my mind. Seriously, if you haven't read it yet, do yourself a favor and get on that shit.
> 
> Anyway, since I know a lot of you are here because of the 2019 movie, I just wanted to point out that this fic will be sticking to Alcott's version of events, where Amy and Laurie have no romantic inclinations until they meet up as adults in Nice. I've always loved the comedy of their joint "a-ha" moment in _Good Wives_ and think there's something to be said for the mature, mutual way they grow into the right people for each other.
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know. Kudos are great, comments are even better, and that bookmark button is my best friend. This is the first of six planned chapters, so if you'd like more (and fast), sound off below. Thank you again for reading, and I'll see you in Chapter 2!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie uncovers a hidden depth to Amy after helping her compose a premature will.

As Amy grew, so too did her desire to be seen as a gentlewoman in both mind and manners, albeit for ever-changing reasons. When Laurie first knew her, it was because she wanted for things—affluence, adulation, colored pencils. She knew her parents had once been members of high society, and despite loving her family very much, the grass was ever greener in those daydreams where they’d never lost their standing and influence, where she could afford real art classes and wear fine dresses to even finer balls. But over the last few months, there seemed to be a change in Amy, so small it was nearly imperceptible, except for in rare moments like this. 

Laurie was lounging beneath the shade of an apple tree at Aunt March’s Plumfield Estate, his head pillowed on Amy’s billowy skirt as she sketched and he napped. They’d spent the earlier part of his daily visit perfecting the young mademoiselle’s will, much to Laurie’s comedic delight, and when he opened his eyes to see her studying his countenance from above, her yellow hair gleaming like a halo in the midday sun, he couldn’t help but ask, “Will I be one of the lucky recipients when it comes time to chop those pretty curls off your corpse?”

Amy, in all her elegance and dignity, scrunched her nose up like a bunny and made a dainty little sound of outrage, then swatted him over the head with her sketchbook. “Terrible boy! How dare you tease my future acts of charity.”

“I’m not teasing,” he said in a tone that was precisely that, then added, in a much more conciliatory manner, “I simply must know where I stand, dear Amy, for as much as I admire my bequeathed horse, I’d like to believe I’m deserving of at least a lock or two.”

Amy smirked, as susceptible to his powers of persuasion as he was to hers. “Laurie, you know I hold you in the very highest regard, life-saver and older brother that you are, so of course I shall leave you some of my hair. But only if I die before you, which seems unlikely given your advantageous age.”

She meant to say “advanced age,” but he sussed out her point nonetheless.

“Merci beaucoup, belle cherie,” he said with a nod. “And please know that I hold you in equally high regard.”

At this, Amy paused in her sketching, a serious look overtaking her usually sunny face. “Do you truly?”

Laurie laughed, rather taken aback. “Why, yes, of course. Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Well,” she began, fiddling with her drawing pencil to avoid his eyes, “it’s just… everyone loves Beth so much. She’s good and kind and always thinks of others, even when it hurts her to do so. If she were to die, we’d all miss her terribly.”

“Yes, we would,” he agreed, not much liking the path of Amy’s gloomy tangent. After all, Beth’s health remained a matter of daily concern in both the March and Laurence households, and these short trips to Plumfield were just about the only time Laurie allowed himself to forget his constant worrying and simply have fun.

Unfortunately, the poor girl seemed set on the topic, chewing her mouth uncomfortably as she declared, “People don’t like me as they like Beth.”

“Amy…”

“You know,” she cut him off, “I used to imagine my funeral during dull Mr. Davis’s lectures. The whole town would show up, and all of my friends would weep as Father said the Lord’s Prayer over my grave. Jo would write the most poetic effigy—”

Laurie bit the inside of his cheek, valiantly suppressing a grin at her blunder of “eulogy.” 

“Marmee and Meg would sew me a beautiful white dress to be buried in.” Amy paused for a moment, swallowing hard before adding, “And Beth… well, she’d be solemn the whole way through, but I wouldn’t mind, because I’d know with all my heart that she loved me in her quiet way.”

Laurie wanted to inquire as to his role in this fantasy funeral, but instead settled on a gentle, “That sounds like quite the service.”

“Yes,” said Amy, her voice laced with an unfamiliar sorrow, “it’s a lovely daydream. But that’s all it is. I know now that it wouldn’t be like that. If I were to fall ill tomorrow, as Beth has, I don’t think people would feel so bad.”

“That’s not true. We’d all be devastated.”

This made her smile, though it was still muted and melancholy. “Don’t lie, Laurie. I know everyone thinks me silly and spoiled.”

Laurie reached out his hand to still her trembling fingers as he said, “Spoiled? Yes. Silly? Sometimes. But never unloved.”

“I could be a better person, someone more worthy of my family’s love,” she confessed, finally looking away from her sketchbook and meeting Laurie’s black eyes with her impossibly blue ones.

And in that moment, Theodore Laurence saw something in Amy March that he’d never seen before—the true substance of her character. Petted and petulant, prone to fancy, blindingly persistent, but gentle and kindhearted at her core. 

“Sometimes, I think I’m the most awful boy in the world,” he admitted, eager to assuage the girl’s worries, but also surprised to find that the revelation was true and felt good to express.

“Oh, but you’re not, Laurie! You’re pleasant and generous and have lovely manners when you aren't pranking with Jo.”

“All true,” he said with an air of humble acceptance, “but I’m also indolent, ungracious, and occasionally downright mean. I have a hidden temper on me, and I’m strong-willed to the point of being stubborn.”

“Perhaps so, but I’d still cry for you if you died.”

“And I you. In fact, I think it’s only fair that whoever passes first can count on hysterical theatrics from the other at their funeral.”

“I’d like that very much,” confessed Amy, her cheeks flushing a fine coral. 

“Well, then it’s settled. Sins and all, at least one of us will have tears to water our grave.”

Amy took a minute to let his words sink in, all the while playing with the hand still caught between hers, then bounced upon the blanket with a happy gasp and cried, “I’ve a splendid idea, but you must promise you won’t make fun?”

Laurie sobered. “I give you my word, dear.”

“Very good,” agreed Amy with a shake of her golden head. “I think we should come up with a special code for when one of us is acting out. That way, the other can use it to let them know, and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“Cunning. I like it.”

“I want both of us to meet God better than we are today.”

And with that, the aspiring saints returned to idling in the cool grass, each unburdening the numerous sins and shortcomings of their character on an understanding ear. This was followed by a spirited debate on the potential signals for misbehavior, as well as subsequent parameters of use. A wink was Laurie’s choice, despite her ladyship’s keen declaration that such gestures were “crude and unbecoming,” and a toss of curls over the right shoulder was Amy’s more subtle cue.

As the years passed, and the little woman and young man became fine, accomplished adults, many winks and casual tosses of hair were shared between them. And, just as Amy suspected, no one was ever the wiser, though Jo did once question her boy about the strange twitch in his eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who've read the book, no explanation necessary. For those who've become _Little Women_ fans thanks to the new movie (bless, Greta, bless), I'm sure this chapter seemed a bit... morbid. It's actually based on my favorite scene from the first half of the novel, wherein Laurie helps Amy compose a will while she's living at Plumfield during Beth's confinement. Aside from being ridiculously funny, this little interlude contains the first inkling of a connection between our pair, as it's the first time we see them alone together, and I really wanted to play around with its darkly comedic tone. Again, if you haven't read the book yet, I can't recommend it highly enough! Hope you're all taking care during these scary times and that my update helped brighten your day even a little bit. 
> 
> As always, if you liked this chapter, please do me a huge favor and leave a comment or kudos. If you really liked it, bookmark it or subscribe. Engaging with fellow fans is always a joy for me, and it's been especially therapeutic during these tough times. Until next time, stay safe and sane. Love to you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Laurie share the first of what will be many dances, though neither knows it yet.

At fifteen, Laurie thought Meg March the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and everyone from Grandfather to Ned Moffat to John Brooke seemed to agree. With her round pink cheeks and soft brown hair, she was loveliness personified, her beauty only eclipsed by the innate grace with which she carried herself and the modesty that made her unconscious of such a power. That said, at nineteen going on twenty, he was beginning to question his chosen sovereign, for though she was barely a girl of sixteen, Amy had grown every bit as fair as Meg over the summer, and the effects were perilous to behold.

You see, the littlest Miss March was shrewd where the eldest was humble, often using her mysterious gifts to charm even the hardest of hearts without stepping over the line of propriety. And oh, how the men of Laurie’s class fell victim to her flirting and flouncing, the whole lot heading merrily back to school at the end of a long weekend in Concord with lighter pockets and promises to “marry that girl someday.”

The worst of the bunch was poor Parker, the runt of their illustrious litter, who chased after Amy with an ardor bordering on pitiable and sunk into fits of depression whenever his idol ignored him to “dally with old Laurence.” His misgivings were wildly absurd, of course, for Laurie was more devoted to Jo than ever, and though he possessed two good eyes which forced him to acknowledge Amy’s budding beauty, she was still the same frolicsome sister he loved to tease and dote upon. That they were both born flirts who fell into a habit of acting besotted in one another’s presence was just part of their unspoken game, and no one in the March family took it the slightest bit seriously. 

“Do you think Miss Amy will grant me a dance or two tonight?” Parker asked Laurie as he trailed behind him and Jo on their way to the Gardiner Estate.

Sallie’s parents were throwing a lavish fete complete with dancing and refreshments to celebrate their daughter’s recent marriage to Ned Moffat’s pocketbook, and the entire town seemed to be on the guest list. Amy was surely waist-deep in offers already, having left with Meg and John nearly an hour ago as to arrive “precisely and politely on time,” while Jo was determined to conveniently miss all the forced greetings and obnoxious flattery. “I go for the polka and the canapés, Teddy, not the conversation,” she’d cried without the thinnest thread of remorse, and Laurie, lovelorn as ever, had been in no mood to argue. Late was its own rising fashion, after all, especially in Europe, and he was nothing if not a young man on the cusp of novel trends.

Back on the lane, Jo scrutinized Parker for several tense seconds, then answered, “So long as you only refer to her as Helen of Concord and never look her directly in the eye.”

“I can do that.”

The audience laughed heartily, but Parker’s earnestness was equal to his desperation, and when they arrived a few minutes later, he got as near to Amy as her diaphanous dress would allow, shouting over the music and merriment, “Would you do me the great honor of gifting me the next dance, sweet Helen of Concord?”

Her ladyship’s musical laughter ceased abruptly as she turned from her swarm of admirers to gaze upon the persistent Parker. “Oh. Well, I’d love to, but, you see,” she removed a blue water lily from her skirt and added it to the cluster of roses decorating his buttonhole, “my dance card is full for the evening.” 

“Yes, I’m up next,” George Davies declared, removing Amy’s cake plate so as to cradle her gloved hand.

“And me after that,” Will Chester confirmed with a sentimental sigh.

“I’ve put my name down for the final waltz of the night,” finished Tudor, insufferable as always, though good looks and a sizable family fortune ensured his standing as the favorite of every society girl.

Now, Laurie didn’t like to encourage his friend’s romantic fancies, for they were in constant conflict with his need to safeguard Amy’s good name, but the forlorn look on Parker’s face was enough to crack his usually stern resolve. 

“Amy, dear,” he said, and she immediately swiveled to the sound of his voice, “you can’t mean to tell me a young lady as lovely and kind as yourself is incapable of making room for one more partner.”

 _Wink_.

The wick of Amy’s mouth trembled, and she brushed a cloud of blonde ringlets behind her ear. “Why, I’m sure you’re right, Laurie. With a bit of maneuvering, I can find Mr. Parker a suitable spot.”

And so she did, favoring her disciple with both a nimble two-step and, most agreeably, a waltz. Laurie, meanwhile, wheedled four dances out of Jo, conceded two to Annie Moffat, took a turn with the bride, hid admirably from May Chester, and even managed to drag Meg from John’s arms for the length of a short schottische. As the festivities wound down, he found a comfortable seat near the refreshment table with Jo and was about to steal a large bite of her custard when a soft tap on the shoulder diverted his efforts.

“I believe I owe you my last dance.”

“Why? Did some tragic fate befall our beloved Mr. Tudor?” 

Amy smiled mischievously, and Laurie couldn’t help but return it. “No,” she said with perfect poise, “I simply meant to give my sister a few moments of peace by engaging you.”

“Ah, Saint Amy—at it again, I see.”

“Indeed,” she agreed, holding out a small hand to help him stand. Before he could take it, however, Jo pushed him bodily from his seat with a mock-weary, “Yes, Teddy, please go… for the sake of my poor peace.”

Laurie rolled his eyes at both girls, forever content to play the role of romantic lead in their theatricals, then guided Amy to the center of the floor.

“You know,” he said, wrapping an arm round her remarkably slim waist, “I must thank you for your care tonight. Parker would have been intolerable if he didn’t get his dance.”

Amy chewed her mouth unthinkingly, a sure sign of discomfort Laurie had come to know well over the years. “I’m sorry I denied him at first,” she said, her fingers tightening on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I swear. It’s just… he seems so enamored of me, and I don’t… that is, I cannot return his affections.”

“You by no means have to. Jo and I would prefer you didn’t.”

“I know,” she replied, cheeks bright red from either shame or exertion, “but I hate to disappoint him.”

They did a few sweeping rotations in silence before it became too much to bear, and Laurie, in an ill-fated attempt to lighten the mood, goaded, “I thought you liked being worshipped by every male with a pulse.”

Amy favored him with a cool look that quickly morphed into one of forbearance. “I’ll admit, I enjoy bossing your boys around when they visit, for women have so little power in this world.”

“I knew it,” he began, but she cut him off with a harsh, “I never wanted to hurt anyone. It was fun at first, like a game we all knew how to play, but then the rules changed. I didn’t mean for him fall in love with me.”

“You March girls never do,” was Laurie’s gentle reply, his eyes unconsciously flitting to Jo, who was now chatting with Meg while John helped her on with her coat.

Amy cocked an eyebrow—the all-knowing oracle. “I doubt I’ll ever feel love the way you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know.”

He did.

“I don’t.”

Amy sighed. “Fine. Be that way, if you must.” And they carried on with the waltz, their rhythm perfect, their steps measured and refined. Then, “I’m too practical for matters of the heart, I think.”

As if on cue, the violins surged in denouement, and Laurie pulled Amy close. “I doubt that very much, my lady,” he said as they performed the finishing twirl.

“Do you?” she inquired, genuine interest peeking through her soft, snowy veneer. 

“Yes. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that when the times comes, you’ll love harder than the rest.”

Laurie was right, of course, though he could hardly predict the personal satisfaction he would soon take in the fulfillment of his passing prophecy. Indeed, the very next day, he barked with laugher over Parker’s dogged belief that he was trying to seduce the angelic Miss Amy with secret winks and lively dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, for anyone who’s read this far, thank you for your patience! I know I said I wanted to post once a week, and that’s still very much my intention, but life has been so hectic lately, what with the pandemic and trying to get settled at home after university shut down. I hope you’re all staying safe, sane, and mildly entertained in the midst of this strange and scary time. And if any of you are in the healthcare, service, or retail industries, thank you times a million! 
> 
> Anyway, I always loved the little anecdote at the beginning of _Good Wives_ about Laurie’s college buddies worshipping Amy and her, in turn, reveling in the attention and bossing them around. It was certainly a fun concept to play around with! 
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed this latest update, please consider leaving a comment or kudos, following the story, or if you’re feeling extra generous, bookmarking it. Feedback from fellow fans has been food for my quarantined soul. 
> 
> Until next time...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jo rejects his proposal, Laurie find himself drawn to an adult Amy's tough love and indomitable spirit.

_It's selfish of you to keep teasing for what I can't give. I'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it, the better for both of us._

Jo’s words were the specter that haunted the halls of Laurie’s mind as he chased sleep each night but never caught it. He could conjure every line of her face, equals parts frantic and frustrated, her hair a nest of chestnut tangles, her mouth a thin, white line. Oh, how he loved her, how he wished to _be loved_ by her. But it had always been a fantastic dream, an impenetrable castle in the air, and though he liked to pretend otherwise, there was a secret piece of his heart that had been braced for the blow.

Because Laurie didn’t just love Jo… he knew Jo. He knew that she was bold and brash and keenly brilliant. He knew that she hated artifice but admired poverty. He knew that her genius burned brightest when the scribbling cap was firmly settled on her brow. He knew that her favorite flowers were wild roses and that she took her coffee black and with ice. He knew that she loved Beth the best of her sisters, yet he also knew that her nature was too pure, too kind to ever divulge such a secret.

Most of all, though, he knew that she did not love him. He saw it in little actions—a barrier of pillows between them on the sofa, the tightening of Jo’s shoulder blades when a hug lingered—and heard it in the lilt of her voice whenever she labelled him a “desperate flirt.” Still, he’d needed to hear the words from her own mouth, for hope lingered despite all evidence to the contrary, and only the forceful utterance of this most dreaded truth could send him away for good.

_If you loved me, Jo, I should be a perfect saint, for you could make me anything you like._

_No, I can't. I've tried and failed, and I won't risk our happiness by such a serious experiment._

Jo’s rejection had been plain, her pity only serving to double the intolerable anguish Laurie felt as his life was rendered suddenly and completely meaningless. The vision of their future together—the future _everyone_ wanted for them—was the one thing that had made Concord home, and without it, there was nothing worth salvaging. He would never be part of the March family, and he’d sooner hang than watch some other man ( _that old professor_ , his broken heart supplied) take the place meant for him.

And so he sailed across the Atlantic with Grandfather, determined to fulfill his bitter promise and “go to the devil.” After all, Europe was teeming with libertines and loose morals, his pockets were stuffed to the brim, and without the rousing presence and platitudes of the March women, there would be no one to temper those baser instincts Jo had long feared.

_You've got such a strong will, if you once get started wrong, I'm afraid it would be hard to stop you._

For the first month or so, he did just that, quickly falling in with a crowd of young artists and acolytes while Grandpa pursued business in London and left him to his sullenness. Late nights at the opera in Salzburg, drinks and dancing with the can-can girls of Paris, and all manner of gossip-worthy brooding in Berlin’s smoky gambling halls helped numb the senses and drown out visions of four lovely, disappointed faces. Mornings were often spent at the bottom of a glass, blinds drawn to smother the jovial sun, and once he finally tired of evenings out, Laurie’s new friends began stopping by in droves to lounge in the drawing room and wax philosophic on everything from Baroque composition to the “vile censorship” of Wilmot and the ills of moralism.

It was at one of these gatherings that he first met Aline Ostrovsky, the urbane French wife of a Russian opera singer. She was twenty-eight to Laurie’s twenty-two, a fair-haired beauty with lively eyes and a mouth like Botticelli’s Madonna, the kind of woman who prized liberty and personal freedom above all things. Her husband was clearly unfaithful, sometimes bringing new lovers to the party, sometimes finding them there, though Aline hardly seemed to mind. On occasion, she’d even giggle at his antics or coax a strange girl into his lap, much to the amusement of their tipsy peers, none of whom seemed to find such behavior the least bit untoward. Nor did any of them bat an eye when the married woman approached Laurie one night on the settee, pressed herself against his side, and said, “Would you like to go to bed with me, Mr. Laurence?”

He resisted easily at first, for every crevice and corner of his heart still belonged to Jo, and jaded though he’d become since fleeing Concord, the ideals of marriage remained sacrosanct in his eyes. Yes, he’d flirted and necked with enough girls in college to earn his fair share of sisterly teasing, but all that had been a lark, done for fun and not for keeps. Taking a woman to bed, on the other hand? Making love with her? That was a different act entirely, a stalwart commitment born from love and trust, and whenever he imagined himself in the throes of it, the person beside him was his wife.

“How quaintly American of you,” Aline cooed when he confessed as much, one hand pushing through his untamed curls while the other crept higher and higher on his thigh. Her smile was deadly, the perfect accessory to her whispered, “But I’ll have my way soon enough. We Europeans tend to rub off on people.” 

And she soon did—with every inch of her charming figure.

The first time was clumsy and rushed, greenness coupling with absinthe to create a wholly forgettable experience. The second was better, longer and slightly more sober, though still lacking in genuine sentiment. By the third go, all lingering shyness was gone, replaced by a French sense of abandon that eased Laurie’s troubles and drowned his grief in pure feeling.

Aline was a patient teacher, guiding him like Ariadne through the maze with gentle hands and breathy praise, her tutelage lessening each time they coupled, for he was a devoted student when the subject stirred him. And so they went, meeting up whenever her husband absconded with one of his girls, desperate to smother their shared loneliness in every wanton consummation they could dream up—that is, until Grandpa returned early to find them passed out in the guest room. 

“This girl… Do you love her?”

The answer came easily. “No.”

“We all lose our way at least once, my boy.” A long pause, then, “Just make sure your Sonata Pathétique doesn’t last too long.”

Sufficiently chastened, Laurie penned a brief letter that same night, breaking things off with Aline and apologizing for the whole affair. She never wrote back, though he heard from an aristocrat in their circle that she and her husband were off to Prague for the remainder of the fall season. He wasn’t sad to hear it, didn’t feel much of anything, really, until about three months later, when he received a sweet-smelling envelope with a dried water lily pressed into the wax. Amy March was coming to Nice with the Carrols over Christmas, and she wanted him to join her. 

The sight of blonde curls and blue silk felt like coming home, Amy’s bright-faced beauty striking Laurie momentarily dumb as he strolled down the Promenade des Anglais. She was divinely tall and divinely fair, her nose lightly freckled from the sun, and the newfound air of elegance she possessed seemed to light her from within. Yet she held nothing back when she flew at him like a child, her watery smile and joyful exclamation— _Oh, Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!_ —flooding his heart with long-forgotten fondness.

They spent much of that afternoon together, tooling around Castle Hill and feeding the peacocks till the sun hung low and ruddy in the sky, then parted ways with Laurie promising to return for the hotel Christmas party at half-past eight. And return he did, somehow surprised to find the little woman before him even more luminous than the one he’d admired mere hours ago amidst the rose bushes and rolling hills. Her hair had been tamed into a stylish knot at the back of her head, though several feisty ringlets still framed her brow, and the ball dress she wore was draped in a strange and striking gossamer that made her shimmer like a moth in candlelight. But the girl herself put all these small beauties to shame, for her face radiated such happiness, such honest contentment, that it was impossible to keep eyes on any adornment for more than a moment or two.

Still, there was a niggling _something_ that kept Laurie from truly enjoying the festivities, and when Amy began to sense it, she abandoned him to Aunt Carrol for a plethora of willing dance partners. At first, he was relieved to be left behind, watching with mingled pride and humor as she commanded the room, intent, he knew, on punishing his dour mood. But then her ladyship stopped to rest, and he soon found himself fetching her supper and fanning her brilliant cheeks as she rebuffed the playful advances of their youth and plainly confessed her talent for “making the most of my poor little things.” In that instant, Laurie saw all the strength and struggle Amy March hid so effortlessly behind cheerful smiles and charming manners and filled her whole book with his name, the two of them galloping across the dance floor till her slippers tore and their mingled breath was lost in a sea of giddy laughter. 

After that, they were nearly inseparable, Laurie drifting alongside Amy and Flo as they toured various parks and museums, the former often bossing him about in a manner he found most agreeable and which made her grow day by day in his esteem. There was, after all, something admirable in Amy’s blunt yet graceful nature, and though he was still prone to fits of self-pity in her presence, the heartsickness that had followed Laurie from Concord seemed to lessen whenever they were together. What’s more, he loathed the idea of Fred Vaughn carrying her off to some fussy English estate, and whenever his mind caught up with his heart long enough to ask why, he assured himself that brotherly concern was to blame.

It was on a quiet morning, as Laurie sat contemplating that very question, that a letter arrived at the Chauvain. He frequently received notes from Amy around noontime, and yet he knew before turning it over that this was not hers, for she always stamped her seal with fresh flowers, and the rosewater she dabbed on her wrists had a habit of lingering wherever she touched.

He tore it open and read aloud:

_Dear Mr. Laurence,_

_Imagine my surprise when I saw you yesterday outside the Chauvain. You seemed occupied at the time, so I decided to save my formal greeting for later._

_Maksim’s been invited to perform for several weeks at the Théâtre Royal here in Nice, and he’d be most grateful for someone to keep me company while he rehearses late into the evenings._

_No need to write back. I’m staying at your hotel, and I make a nightly trip to the café downstairs around seven-thirty. The table near the back is quite a charming spot to read._

_Á bientôt,_

_Aline_

Guilt bloomed like a lotus in Laurie’s stomach at the sight of the familiar scrawl. Noble intentions aside, he regretted the manner in which he’d ended things with Aline, and hearing from her after such an absence was a stark reminder of his own shortcomings. With that in mind, he resolved to stop by the café and beg pardon after taking Amy for an afternoon walk in the park, little imagining the unwelcome turn his day would soon take.

Upon arrival at the Carrols' hotel, Laurie was pleasantly surprised to find Amy alone, Flo and her parents having gone to Monaco for the day. He was about to suggest they spend the afternoon indoors, perhaps tutor each other in sketching or on the piano, when Amy, who hated idleness almost as much as artifice, announced she was going to Valrosa—with or without his company.

The trip was pleasant enough at first, with conversation tending toward topics as placid as weather, architecture, and even the proper etiquette for plucking a rose. However, Amy had never been one to smother her opinions, and talk soon turned to Laurie’s myriad faults, the most grievous of which was laziness. Yes, in her majesty’s esteemed opinion, he was nothing more than a wallowing waste of talent, beauty, great fortune, and worst of all, good faith. He’d been gifted from within and without in ways she would likely never know, and yet he was willing to squander it all for love of her sister.

_I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear._

_Wait till you've tried it yourself._

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but there was no taking them back. Worse, there was no taking back Amy’s indictment, which he knew to be heartfelt and true. For months, he’d meandered glumly across Europe, abandoning hope and humor alike, refusing to take advantage of his many gifts because he couldn’t have the one he wanted most. But no more. Going back to that apathy knowing how deeply Amy despised it would be impossible. For some unknowable reason, her good opinion mattered more to him than anything since Jo’s love, and he felt ill at the thought of never reclaiming it.

By the time they reached her aunt’s doorstep around sunset, Laurie wanted nothing more than to escape Amy’s pitying gaze. He felt naked beneath the weight of her earlier words, and though he knew she still loved him more than she despised him, he could no longer bear to be in her presence. When she asked if he would return for a visit later that night, he put on his best rueful smile and said, “Unfortunately, I have an engagement. Au revoir, mademoiselle,” shook her hand with all the sincerity he could muster, and walked off.

“I’m delighted you somehow managed to drag yourself away from your sweetheart long enough to visit an old friend,” cried artful Aline when he met her at the café. 

“She’s not my sweetheart,” answered Laurie, his tone clipped, “just an old family friend. More of a younger sister than anything.” 

When Aline said nothing, only arched her brow in challenge, he felt compelled to add, “She’s soon to be engaged to a former schoolmate of mine.”

“And you’re blissfully happy for them, I’m sure.”  
  
Laurie forced a dimpled grin. “Of course. She’s a lovely girl, and he’s… exceedingly rich. It’s a smart match on both their parts.”

“Sounds like.”

From there, Aline abandoned all talk of Amy March, happily accepting Laurie’s apology and the free meal that went along with it. That is, until it was time for them to part…

“I know it’s over,” she said with a whisper, her fingers tightening on the tails of his coat, “but can’t you come upstairs one last time?”

_You are contented to be petted and admired by silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wise ones._

“It wouldn’t be right,” said Laurie, Amy’s beatific glower a tattoo on his mind.

But Aline was not deterred, and when she wet her lips and said, “If you don’t love her, what’s the harm,” he could find no strength to resist. He’d never have Jo, and he didn’t want Amy. He couldn’t. After all, the love he bore the former was too pure, too pervasive to be extinguished by sudden flights of fancy or confused longing, and come what may, he would wear it round his neck like a millstone till the day he died.

Yes. Yes, that was the tune Laurie hummed all the way up the stairs and into his former lover’s apartment. It was the truth he clung to like a lifeline as Aline unbuttoned his jacket and set her mouth against his throat. Loving Jo was what made him Laurie, even if she didn’t love him back, and he refused to give her up without a fight.

Grabbing Aline by the hair, he dragged her back to his mouth, their kisses growing frantic as hands fumbled with laces and the sound of fabric on fabric filled the room. Her bare skin was cool to the touch, and the ends of her hair tickled his palm when he slid it harshly across her breast. What had once bonded them in sorrow now felt hollow, a vapor of abstract sights and sounds that left him numb.

And then, without warning, Aline broke from his arms and climbed atop the bed, bare except for her corset and stockings. “How do you want me?” she asked, settling on spread knees, and a wholly unbidden image of a different girl with blonde hair and cool skin rose to meet him. She spoke the same words and held the same pose, but the excitement she provoked was altogether new.

“I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I can’t go through with it,” confessed Laurie, nearly shaking. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know why.”

Aline rolled to her back with a mournful sigh. “You truly are in love, you foolish boy!”

Laurie sank into a nearby chair, hiding his face between steepled fingers. “I am, but not with the girl you think.”

“Like I said—foolish.”

Aline smiled, then allowed Laurie to help her back on with her clothes. They didn’t speak as they righted themselves in the mirror, but as he was leaving, she offered a quiet, “Perhaps one day I’ll feel for someone what you feel for this girl.”

With that, they parted ways for good, and early the next morning over coffee and croissants in his room, Laurie sat down to begin the letter that would set him right.

_My Dear Mentor…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Just wanted to leave a quick note apologizing for my lack of recent updates. Between end-of-semester papers I may or may not have put off for months and helping my younger sibs with online schooling, things have been a bit hectic. That said, I hope this extra-long chapter helps make up for it...
> 
> For anyone who hasn't read the book and is confused by this chapter's inconsistencies with the recent film, let me explain a few things: 
> 
> 1\. Amy travels to Europe as the companion to her cousin Florence "Flo" Carrol, not Aunt March, who remains behind in Concord. She's been overseas with the Carrols for about two years when she meets up with Laurie in Nice. 
> 
> 2\. Yep, that's right, Nice. In the book, they don't reconnect in Paris, but in the French Riviera. 
> 
> 3\. It's not a New Year's party that Amy invites Laurie to attend, but a Christmas ball at her hotel. By this point, Fred has gone back to London to be near his ailing twin, and Amy and Laurie have a wonderful evening together, not a blow-up fight. It's actually the first hint of something developing between them. 
> 
> 4\. Alcott never comes straight out and says it, since she was technically writing a children's book, but it's certainly implied that Laurie got up to some mischief while wandering aimlessly across Europe. 
> 
> Anyway, hope that clears it up! I'll try my best to have the next update posted within the week. Again, please forgive my delays and know that I'm committed to finishing this story at a steady pace. As always, if you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or kudos, and if you really liked it, consider bookmarking or following the story! Your encouragement and engagement means the world to me, and I can't thank you all enough for your support. 
> 
> Stay safe out there!


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